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When he wasn’t coughing, I still checked on him, fearful that he wasn’t breathing. It is true, what they say, having a puppy is like having a baby.

I stumble out of my room, and shield my eyes from the bright hallway light. I flip off the light and descend down the stairs, counting the steps as I walk in the darkness.

“One, two, three ... Ouch! Who left Batman on the stairs!”

I am swearing under my breath by the time that I finally make it to the coffee pot.
I measure the perfect amount of beans, grind them, add the water and press the On switch.

I move a little faster now and run back up the stairs to wake the boys and pick out their clothes. It is picture re-take day and I don’t want either one of them in their beloved “Rocker for Life” t-shirts.

It takes both boys about as long as me to get moving and finally we are all downstairs.

I start to make lunches for school and breakfast as I eye the coffee maker. It is almost done brewing.

I bake the long “take and bake” baguette bread from the grocery store because I know how much my boys like it.

I am baking bread? In the morning? Before school? Am I crazy?

It doesn’t matter. It only takes 9-11 minutes so I should be fine.

The rest of the morning is a juggling act of doing about five things at the same time. I burn the toast. I give juice to the kid that asked for milk.

I forgot to check homework. I am handed a note from a backpack that describes an art project that I am supposed to work on with my seven-year-old. It is due today.

We value and respect our HERWriters' experiences, but everyone is different. Many of our writers are speaking from personal experience, and what's worked for them may not work for you. Their articles are not a substitute for medical advice, although we hope you can gain knowledge from their insight.